


Going Home

by blackmountainbones, BobSkeleton



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Howard reads Twilight for the beige porn, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Naboo saves the day again, Tony Harrison’s multihexagonal penis, are we referencing ourselves?, but we’re still not over Howard getting off on khaki, the 2020 fixit fic no one asked for, we’d marry Tony Harrison if it got us out of this mess, why yes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27700595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmountainbones/pseuds/blackmountainbones, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobSkeleton/pseuds/BobSkeleton
Summary: It’s 2020 in the Booshiverse, and Earth is a terrible place to be. Luckily, Vince and Howard have an escape plan—they’ve just completed their Xooberonian citizenship, and they’re leaving for their new home tomorrow. Vince just has a little packing to finish first...
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Going Home

**Author's Note:**

> We wrote this on election night when it looked like a Trump victory was inevitable. Then Biden got the electoral votes, and then looked like Trump was planning to stage a coup via the courts for a couple of weeks. Now that's he's finally conceded we can take a deep breath post this fic. 
> 
> Luckily, we avoided another four years of facism, but damn, it was a close call. We still have another 60 days of this shit before Biden’s inauguration, so hopefully this will still be able to bring you comfort in these trying times...
> 
> Thanks to [badbadbucky](https://badbadbucky.tumblr.com) for the beta work! You somehow make us both better and worse at the same time, and we like that about you ;)

Howard folded the paper face-down on the table and sighed. “I don’t even know why I read that rag—it’s always the same. Nothing but bad news.”

“What bad news?” Vince asked, looking up from his sugary cereal.

“You know, the PM’s a fascist, the EU hates us, America’s on fire, the murder hornets are back, and a deadly virus is ravaging the planet,” Howard moaned. 

Vince nodded. “Yeah, s’why I don’t read the newspaper. I only read Otto’s News.” Howard looked at him blankly. “Otto’s a turtle with red shoes who lives behind the abandoned Tescos and he prints up genius reports. But even his stuff has been a bit...bleak,” finished Vince, looking uncharacteristically dismal.

“Oh, what is man but a vapor, a dying breath on the cold, dark breeze of existence?” Howard intoned. 

“Well, soon we won’t have to worry about any of it anymore,” Vince pointed out. “We’re Xooberonian citizens now.”

Howard cast an eye around the flat. There were boxes everywhere, overflowing with stuff. One such box sat next to the bookcase, reminding Howard he had to go through his shelves. He made a mental note to bring his Twilight boxed set with him—it was a collector’s item, sure to appreciate in value after the destruction of Earth eliminated any other copies of the cultural sensation. It was a little unfair that he could only take one box of books with him to Xooberon, considering Vince was allowed ten suitcases of clothing, but Howard didn’t want to risk angering the Xooberonian immigration officials by complaining. 

“Lucky we got a green card marriage just as it appears the world’s going to end,” said Vince. “Too bad it was to Tony Harrison.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of weird that he’s allowed six wives, one for each dimension of his multihexagonal penis,” Howard agreed. 

“Can’t look a gift shaman in the mouth, I suppose,” said Vince. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Harrison?” He grinned wickedly at Howard.

“Oh, shove off,” Howard sniped. “You’re Mr. Harrison too.”

Vince inexplicably pulled a feathered boa from a box full of kitchenware, winding it around his neck with a flourish. “Our husband seems to think I’m pretty enough to be the second Mrs. Harrison...”

Howard’s cheeks turned the slightest shade of pink as he smiled coyly at Vince. “You’re a very pretty Mrs. Harrison,” he teased. “But you should get some packing done. It won’t be easy to narrow your wardrobe down to ten suitcases, even with Naboo’s magic.” He tweaked the end of Vince’s boa between his fingers, then pattered across the kitchen to refill the kettle.

Vince sighed and headed back to the bedroom. Howard had a point. He somehow had to condense his three closets and four dressers full of clothing into ten suitcases. If he was starting his life over on an alien planet at the ripe age of 45, he was going to do so in style. 

The room was a mess of fabrics, all uprooted from their storage as Vince went through it. His pile of discards took up almost half of the floor. Six large suitcases stood lined up against the wall, overflowing with clothes Vince had decided to keep. Four more lay on the floor, in various stages of packing. 

Vince yanked an armful of clothing out of his closet. He’d really been clearing out the archives: he’d gone through his more recent acquisitions, and the only clothing left was from decades ago. He looked down at the garments he was carrying: there, at the top of the stack, was Vince’s mirrorball suit.

It was far too small for him now—age had softened his angles—but it still made Vince smile as he removed it from its hanger. The sequins rasped gently against his palm, reminding Vince of the way the damned sequins always used to catch on everything. He’d spent so much time mending and repairing the mirrorball suit after one of his adventures with Howard, until the thing had ripped...

Vince unfolded the garment. There it was: a long, slim run in the fabric, from thigh to thorax, impossible to mend. Reluctantly, he tossed the mirrorball suit into the rejects pile.

The rest of the stack brought back similar memories—the poncho, the black miniskirt he’d worn when trying to pull the goth girls, a jacket that could only be described as “glam-rock cowboy,” all lovingly placed into the discard pile. 

Vince tossed them into the rejects pile, one-by-one. There was no way he was squeezing himself into a pair of drainpipes _that_ tiny again. He’d already gone balloon-headed once; it had messed with his look for an entire week, and Vince didn’t want that to happen again.

Finally, there was only one garment left. Compared to the rest of Vince’s wardrobe, it was drab, stained and ordinary. It was the kind of utilitarian jacket preferred by janitors and car mechanics and drab, practical people like Howard, save for the badly-sewn patches and several tiny badges advertising long-defunct local bands. He should have thrown it into the discards without another look.

But Vince couldn’t. Not the Zooniverse jacket.

It didn’t matter that it was horribly out of fashion, or missing a chunk where an irate llama had bitten him, or that the seams around the patches were clunky and amateurish—Vince couldn’t throw it away. There were too many memories attached to that jacket. Leaving it behind would be like leaving a part of himself behind, and even if Vince was starting a new life, he didn’t want to forget his old one. He didn’t want to live on a slowly-burning planet being taken over by corporate greed and Neo Nazis, but he also didn’t want to not forget his whole life. 

Without really knowing why or how they had started, Vince ran the back of his hand across the tears in his eyes. He’d always been too attached to his clothing, and something about seeing old fabrics, familiar as childhood friends, struck him. He sat on the edge of his bed still holding the green jacket, worn and rough between his fingers, and let the tears come. 

Which is how Howard found him when he came bearing an offering of afternoon tea—Vince, red-eyed and sniffly, perched on the bed, weeping over a jacket Howard hadn’t seen in ages. 

Howard set the tea down on his own bare nightstand, and sat beside Vince. “Hey, little man,” he said, his voice low and soothing. He stretched, draping a long arm over Vince’s shoulder and pulled Vince in. 

Vince went, glad to rest his aching head on its favorite perch—the juncture between Howard’s neck and shoulder. He sniffled, swallowing thickly around his tears before explaining, “I didn’t think I’d be sad to leave, but I am.” 

Howard nodded, rubbing soothing circles on Vince’s back. “I know,” he sighed, his breath warm and familiar against Vince’s hair. “I know. We had some good times, didn’t we?”

Vince sat up, meeting Howard’s eyes. “Remember the time we got all that junk mail?” 

Howard started the junk mail crimp, and by the time they were done, Vince had a small smile on his tear-stained face. 

“Cheers, Howard,” said Vince, interlacing his fingers with Howard’s. 

“I know it’s hard,” said Howard. “I’m sad, too. And the last few years have been… difficult. But listen. We’re getting a fresh start. We’re going to have some new times, really good times.” 

“Promise?” Vince asked, his blue eyes child-like. 

“Promise,” said Howard. “We’ll be together. Things always work out for us, don’t they?”

“Yeah,” smiled Vince, looking down at the jacket laid out on his lap. He stroked the “Noir” nametag reverently. “Plus in a weird way, I guess we’re married now, since we’re both married to Tony Harrison.” 

“I’m not sure that’s how that works…” said Howard, his forehead crinkling in thought. 

“Who knows? Marriage is different on Xooberon. You get one wife for each dimension of your multihexagonal penis, after all,” Vince quipped. He set the jacket in the “keep” pile. “Howard?”

“Hmm?” 

“Do you ever think you’ll miss this place?”

Howard stroked his moustache. “We did have some good times, before Brexit and the fascists and all that. Remember the time we had those Goth girls over, and accidentally summoned a demonic Nana who tried to kill us with her enchanted knitting needles?”

Vince glanced over at the miniskirt he’d been wearing that night, sitting sullenly on the top of the discard pile, right on top of the mirrorball suit. “Or the time that you spent all night playing music through a dead crab to find the New Sound?”

“In my defense,” Howard grumbled, “that _was_ a new sound.” 

“Not a good one,” sniffled Vince, reaching for the flaccid arm of the mirrorball suit and wrapping it around his fingers. “It’s just… before this, I never really had a proper home. And I think I might miss it once we leave.” 

Howard edged closer to him, putting a hand over Vince’s to keep him from worrying the fabric. “I’ll miss it too,” he said softly. “I’ll miss a lot of things about Earth, like Danish cinema and Jazzercise classes, but all that stuff doesn’t matter.” He unwound the glittery fabric from Vince’s grasp carefully, but found himself unwilling to let go. “What matters,” Howard said, swallowing, “is that you’re coming too. I think anywhere could feel like home, as long as you’re there with me.”

Vince let out a gasp and buried his nose in Howard’s sweater, right at the roll of his turtleneck. He snuffled, taking in the comforting scent: old books and well-worn wool and something that smelled suspiciously like brass polish. “D’ya mean that, Howard?”

Howard draped his arms over Vince’s back to hug him close, resting his chin on the crown of Vince’s head. Vince might snipe at him for making his hair small later, but Howard suspected they both needed the reassurance now. “My home is wherever you are.”

That made Vince snuffle harder. His shoulders shook softly, and Howard kept patting him, slow and gentle. He never knew what to do when Vince cried. Vince was the Sunshine Kid, and Howard... well, Howard was a raincloud. So he did the only thing he could think of, which was to let Vince cling to him until his tears ran dry and his shoulders went still and he rubbed his nose on the rough wool of Howard’s sweater, which Howard kindly ignored. 

Vince pulled back and puffy red eyes met Howard’s. Howard placed his large hands on either side of Vince’s splotchy, tear-stained face, and pressed their foreheads together. “No matter what happens, Vince, we’ll have each other,” he said softly. 

Vince clung to Howard’s arms, breathing steadily and regaining his composure. “Thanks, Howard,” he whispered. “Every place I’ve felt like could be home, it was because you were there, too.”

“I know, little man,” Howard said, pulling Vince just a little bit closer. He chanced a kiss to the top of Vince’s head, making Vince tilt his head up questioningly, just the tip of his pink tongue poking through his parted lips. Howard leaned down, closing the gap between Vince’s lips and his own—

The bedroom door swung open with a creak and a curse, and Howard and Vince sprung apart just in time: Naboo stumbled through the open door into the room, followed by his familiar Bollo. Both shaman and familiar nearly tripped over yet another pile of Vince’s cast-offs: a stack of frilly knickers he’d worn during his Gothic Lolita phase. One of the knickers, a green-and-white pair with a lace-up back, caught around Naboo’s foot, and he hopped around wailing, “Get it off! Get it off me!” while the ape tried to remove the offending garment from his foot.

Finally free from the lacy snare, Naboo collapsed dramatically onto Howard’s bed, a concerned Bollo checking his vitals. “This place is a mess! As your landlord, I’m deducting your cleaning fees from your security deposit.”

“Yeah, wotever,” Vince said.

“Why Vince cry?” Bollo asked, shifting his concern from his Shaman to his favorite human. “Howard try to bum Vince again?”

Howard looked indignant at the insult to his virtue, but Vince just rolled his eyes. “ _No_ ,” he said petulantly. 

“Well,” said Naboo from his resting place atop Howard’s bed, “stop being so dramatic. You act like you’re not about to escape from the utter burning shithole that’s earth in the year 2020. And what’s more, you’re about to be married to Xooberon’s most eligible Shaman, so you two should be a lot more excited about all this.” 

“Not really eligible if he’s already married, is he,” Howard muttered. 

“According to the law, he gets one spouse for each of the six dimensions of his multihexagonal penis, which is lucky for you, considering that’s the only reason you were granted Xooberonian citizenship,” Naboo lisped, fixing a beady glare at Howard. “Now if you don’t clean up that mess of boxes for all the books you allegedly love so much, I’m going to make your _Twilight_ boxed set disappear into the nineteenth dimension.” 

“That’s a collector’s item!” Howard gasped.

“Then get packing!” Naboo cried. “The moving carpet will be here at 10 o’clock sharp, and we have to pay the intergalactic moving men triple time if they have to wait. I can’t dock your wages or exploit you for unpaid labor at the Nabootique anymore, so don’t be late!”

Bollo helped Naboo to his feet. “Let’s go, Bollo,” said the tiny Shaman. 

Bollo followed. “We need some of Naboo’s secret stash if we gonna make it to Xooberon,” grunted Bollo. 

Alone again, Howard turned his attention back to Vince. “Alright, Vince?”

“I’ll be OK, Howard,” Vince said, looking down at the Zooniverse jacket lying on top of his suitcase. He still had one more closet to go through, but he felt better about the whole thing now. “You can go pack your collectable vampire erotica boxed set now.”

“That’s not why I read it—”

“No, no, I know. You read it for the beige porn,” Vince teased, just to watch Howard sputter. 

And sputter Howard did. Vince laughed—as long as he could still fluster Howard, Vince knew he was close to home. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like it! We're [@bob-skeleton](https://bob-skeleton.tumblr.com) & [@the-stoned-ranger](https://the-stoned-ranger.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


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